


Pick You Up and Start to Run

by timeespaceandpixiedust



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:22:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeespaceandpixiedust/pseuds/timeespaceandpixiedust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke gets hurt. Lexa will do what it takes to protect her. </p>
<p>Or how I completely ignore canon and write what should have happened in 3x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What the fuck was that episode? I can't even talk about it yet because I am pissed. So here is the world I am living in for the time being instead of that shitstorm Jason left us with. I'm thinking just two chapters, this first one being in Lexa's POV and the next Clarke's. Do tell me what you think and if you're interested in reading more. Not necessarily plot heavy but definitely focusing on Clarke/Lexa and the potential they had.

The gun shots ring out and that’s all it takes to send Lexa running. Shots were not a familiar sound in her life, despite all of the war and death she often oversaw. But the sudden piercing rupture of the previous silence leaves her blood running cold and her feet pounding down the corridor to the only place she can think of. Any of her people could be in danger right now. In the future maybe she could reason her choices by saying that Clarke’s room was the most likely place for a gunshot to take place or that her room was the closest to go. In the moment the reality was that Lexa could think of one person only. Her main concern rested in a girl who had shared her bed only moments earlier. She was all that mattered despite so many others being lead blindly under Lexa's protection.

When she bursts through the door she quickly draws to a stop, seeing the commotion all throughout the room. At no point in the half of minute that her mind had been racing as quickly as her feet had Lexa considered that Titus, the man responsible for raising her and guiding her and protecting her, would be the one holding a gun in his hand. The revelation is shocking enough that she’s frozen for several heavy seconds.

As soon as her presence is known Titus freezes, as does Clarke.

There’s a stream of bright red blood spilling from Clarke’s upper arm and it sends a pulse of fear through Lexa. She’d had enough loss to last her a lifetime. She refused to lose the girl she loves and the man she trusts all in one fell swoop.

In hurried footsteps Lexa runs to Clarke, sparing the dirty, bloodied boy who was tied up near her only a single glance. He could wait, whoever he was. “What have you done?” she snarls out, looking to Titus who does not look nearly shameful enough for Lexa’s taste, not after the sort of treason he had just committed. “Clarke…”

“I’m fine.” She forces the words out and swallows heavily, straining her neck around to see the wound in her arm. “Just a scratch.” It was more than a scratch, but on further evaluation Lexa also sees that it is not the sort of injury that usually leads to death. It was gaping and bloody and messy, but it was something which would heal given time. 

“Guards!” she shouts, looking from Titus, to the boy, and back to Clarke. She presses a hand against Clarke’s wound to try and stanch the bleeding. Men rush in with long spears and hard set stances. They too freeze upon entrance in an attempt to determine just who it was they were here to detain. “Lock him up,” Lexa practically growls with a gesture toward Titus. The betrayal was far too deep for her to feel any sort of remorse in this moment.

Though it is not uncommon for the trustworthy to be revealed as traitors, especially in her land, even her guards take pause before approaching Titus. 

They don’t question her orders. 

Titus does not resist. 

“Keep a guard with him at all times. Strip him of his robes and ensure that no food or water is given.” It is the sort of punishment fit for only the greatest of criminals. It was the kind of command only ordered when there were great losses of life and much destruction. Though no one died today, Titus could die by thousands of cuts from her very own blade and it would still not be enough. Their earlier conversation fills her headspace when she looks over to where he stands, gun now lying helplessly on the ground. He did not trust her to keep her feelings separate from duty then so be it. She would make sure he knew her exact feelings. 

Six guards go with Titus, tying his wrists and forcing his head down as they walk forward. It was more than strictly necessary, but Lexa would not be surprised if they were going in hopes of discovering just what had gone down in Wanheda’s chambers. 

“And what of the boy?” one the remaining guards asks, nodding his chin toward the bloodied figure still tied up.

“Let him go,” Clarke says her stance swaying as she spoke. 

Lexa takes the arm not pressing against Clarke’s wound and wraps it around her, trying to lead her to the bed. “Do as she says,” Lexa instructs without bothering to consider the consequences. Her mind had enough space to consider only one thing, one person, right now. She was not about to waste any of her concentration. “Watch him carefully.”

Clarke grimaces while being lowered to the bed, Lexa presses hard against the still bleeding wound, the blood seeping through her fingers even as she does. “Raise my arm,” Clarke says, trying herself to manipulate the limb but to no avail. Lexa follows instructions and holds it up. Her first aid training had been enough to keep her alive, perhaps do a messy dressing on a fellow soldier on the battlefield, but Clarke’s medical knowledge was far superior. So it should not be of surprise when the bleeding does in fact slow after a minute.

“I need bandages,” Lexa says to anyone who might be listening. 

It’s the nameless boy who holds out an offering of old rags. Lexa recognises them as being from the same cloth that Clarke once had wrapped Lexa’s own hand in. Not for the first time she thinks that there is too much violence in their lives. Not for the last time she longs for an ounce of peace. 

“Are you a friend of Clarke’s?” Lexa inquires as she accepts the bandages. Clarke uses her good hand to point to where Lexa should begin wrapping it and she does as told. 

“That’s a loaded question,” he grunts. It is not missed by Lexa that he stands with a hunched posture and a fixed grimace. Though he was facing his own bought of pain he was still willing to help Clarke. That was good enough for her. “I’m more her friend than your crazy servant at least.”

It wasn’t a comforting answer. “He’s no true servant of mine,” Lexa answers. When Clarke’s hand wraps around her wrist Lexa is reminded of only a short while before and the same desperate grasp guiding her hand exactly where it had been cautiously daring to travel on its own, the path it was taking a little too slow for Clarke's liking. She’s taken back to the perfect moment that had once again been replaced with fear and pain in its stead. 

Clarke’s gaze is unfocused but she works her eyes to Lexa’s face. “Octavia…she’ll be waiting for me.” 

It was terribly selfish but Lexa can’t block the thought that at least now Clarke would be able to stay in Polis a little while longer. It intrudes before she can turn it away, but then the sticky warmth against her hand grounds her back in reality. “I’ll send another rider to your people, let them know you intended to come but were prevented because of injury.” 

At this rate she’d best hope there was no other news to deliver. She was running low on riders to send out. 

Someone must have had the common sense to grab a healer as he comes into the room, proper bandages and herbs and knowledge in place. He looks between the two girls, his commander and the commander of death, and Lexa knows he is judging the redness of her eyes and the clutch she has against Clarke’s arm and there is no doubt in her mind that she looks desperate and lost because she feels nothing but. 

“Step aside, Heda,” he instructs and she releases her hold, moving to Clarke’s other side. There were other things that needed to be tended to. A traitor to be dealt with, a probable uprising threatening her every waking moment, and one of Clarke’s people who had somehow shown up as a captive in her room. But she thinks of the idealistic hope Clarke had offered earlier. She thinks of being free of her people and all that she owed them. 

There were other things to tend to but there was only one place she needed to be.

Holding Clarke’s good hand in her own shaky yet strong grasp, Lexa forgets her duties and focuses on her feelings. She presses her forehead to Clarke’s temple when she hisses out a breath of pain and Lexa holds on to what little she has in life. 

For once, she notices as fingers find hers and lips turn to kiss the side of her jaw, someone holds her back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, nothing much in terms of plot but really just a chance at some utter fluff for these two. It needs to be done after all they've suffered through. I hope you guys liked this little diversion from canon and hopefully there will be more to come in the future. Thanks so much for reading!

The room is dark when Clarke awakens. The first thing she notices is that it is a familiar space, but not her own. The next is the searing pain in her left arm. It wasn’t the debilitating sort, but it was the kind that let you know it was there and would not be relenting anytime soon. 

Everything rushes back too soon after. She remembers gunshots and Lexa’s panicked face and worried hands and how her hair swept across Clarke’s face, tickling against her cheek just enough to pull Clarke out from the pain in her arm for a second. Lexa lays next to Clarke now, eyes shut but her breathing too uneven for her to be properly asleep.

Clarke watches her without moving in hopes of not disturbing her. It brings her back to when she had laid in this same bed only hours earlier, sunlight streaming through the thin, torn curtains. There had been jelly in her legs and a looseness to her shoulders. Fingers were ghosting over stories left untold and love was harbored between them without ever truly being breathed to life. Her heart stutters over itself at just the thought of Lexa’s hands and mouth and eyes, wide and asking and honest. It was a time when not yet had bridged to now and surviving was put on the back burner as living became the primary thought in either of their minds. 

This perfect moment was shattered by a duty to their people and a reality that could never quite be replaced with dreams. It was broken further by an unexpected threat and a turn from a peaceful departure to an attempt at taking her life. 

Through everything that had happened, after all of the nights she had spent drowning in the blood of those lives she had taken and being drawn under with the weight of what was still expected of her, Clarke still did not want to die. Despite how many times she had left herself open and vulnerable in the woods, an easy target, and how she had taunted Lexa only weeks earlier to take her life, there was still a pulsing fear that had rushed through her very being as soon as the gun had come into view. Maybe it was because she’d never been ready to die all along. And maybe it was because she had just remembered all of the promise life still held. 

A tenuous hand reaches out, brushing against Clarke’s good arm. Lexa’s fingers trail gently up and down with just the slightest of pressure. They dance against Clarke’s shoulder and tease the skin behind her ear. Clarke shivers just from the slight touch and resents the way her arm is still reminding her that now was not the time for much physical activity. 

“How are you feeling?” Lexa whispers, scooting her body closer so that there was only a mere inch between them. “Can I get you anything?”

In all of her time here, Clarke had never known Lexa to be one who was without tasks for long. It makes her wonder if Lexa had been by her side this entire time, even as the sun was setting and dinner was taking place and there were punishments to be doled out and unrest among her people. 

Clarke clears her throat and shakes her head but Lexa leans away, presenting a glass to Clarke a second later. She’s gentle as she helps Clarke sit up, light hands and careful touches as she pushes her hair from Clarke’s face. “Where’s Murphy?” Clarke asks after taking a generous sip, handing the cup back to Lexa.

“Murphy?” she asks, confusion covering her voice as she places the cup aside and reaches out once more. Her hands were everywhere. Clarke had not been touched with such tenderness in so long. Now she could hardly remember what it must be like to go without the gentle caress that Lexa cradled against her chin or the adoring eyes that watched her with such giving devotion. “Oh, the boy,” she says a minute later. “He’s been given a room of his own, but I did place him with a guard outside his door. I trust you understand my caution?”

Her voice was nervous and Clarke could not help but smile from it. “I’d be concerned if you hadn’t.” She didn’t want to go into the details of Murphy’s past actions. Yes, he’d done a lot of shitty things and hurt a lot of people. Even so, as she saw him contained and injured in her room she had felt a burst of worry and a rush of sympathy. He was one of her people. Not for the first time she remembers when it had just been them, a collection of delinquent kids all doing their best to try and stay alive. There had been no control then just as there was too much now. It was a balancing act and all of them just kept falling off. 

“Titus will not be hurting you again,” Lexa promises in a voice that catches on his name and trembles at the end. Her vulnerability had always been poorly masked, especially to Clarke, but now Clarke sees the way at which Lexa tries to lay it bare. Still she attempts to blink back tears and looks to the ceiling with a heavy breath. “I’m sorry he-“

“Not your apology to give,” Clarke cuts her off. “And I wasn’t worried about him hurting me again.” The ‘Not with you here,’ goes unspoken. Lexa was willing to do what it took to protect Clarke. Clarke could not ignore that, not even when there had been rage coursing through her veins and angry shouts being torn from her throat. She was safe and at first she had resented that. Then she had grown accustomed to the warmth of her bed and the lack of a need to check her back at every corner. It had been taken for granted because despite Lexa’s best efforts, she still had threats lurking. 

Silence sits heavily between them as Lexa’s fingers twist in Clarke’s hair over and over. “You…you’re welcome to perform his execution if that is what you would wish.”

The offer is not one Clarke had expected nor one which she wanted. So much blood on her hands and a vow that they’d taken together weighing on her conscious. Yet here they were, discussing executions and death in place of a punishment once more. “Juis no drein juis daun,” Clarke mumbles because it’s the only thing that cycles through her mind in response.

“He betrayed me, Clarke,” Lexa argues, her hands falling from Clarke to be clasped over her own stomach instead. “And he tried to kill you…with a gun at that.” Her eyes fall shut and Clarke knows she too is considering how differently it all could have gone. In that moment Titus was not methodical or logical or working for the sake of mere protection. He’d been blind with anger and coated in fear. His actions were not that of a sane man as he shot blindly, aiming for Clarke who darted in and out of his aim as best she could. “This is not just revenge.”

“Then what is it?” Clarke insists, pushing herself up to the best of her ability. The pain that courses through her arm is sharp and sudden and she hisses against it. Lexa’s hands are back on her in an instant, assisting her to sit up as she desired. 

Once Clarke is situated Lexa clears her throat, turning to her side and propping herself up on her elbow. “It is an opportunity, Clarke.” She exhales heavily and Clarke spares a thought to consider that Lexa may not even want to kill Titus. She remembers the sword that Lexa had plunged into her most loyal guard, Gustus, and the way her hand shook once it was finished and the dejected fall of her eyes as the life went out of his body. Perhaps the execution had been offered to her in an attempt of Lexa trying to protect herself from further heartbreak. All of her mentors…dead. And all of them as such because of Clarke. “People are less than pleased with my commands and they need to know what the result of a betrayal against my decisions will lead to.”

“As opposed to Skaikru? Who openly betrays you and walks away unscathed.” Clarke points this out against her better judgement. All this time and energy she had put forth in an attempt to protect them and now here she was, reminding Lexa of their unending treachery and violent dismissal of what she had attempted to offer them. 

Lexa’s eyebrows furrow together as she pulls herself up next to Clarke. She wears a loose fitting top and Clarke sees the slightest bit of bare skin from her leg as it poked out from beneath the covers. An unimportant observation but she fights back the blush regardless. “Would you prefer if I sent a kill order for your people as well?” Lexa asks, her voice harsh and offended. 

With a roll of her eyes Clarke sighs. “Of course not. I’m just trying to point out your inconsistencies-“ Lexa opens her mouth to argue and Clarke holds up her good hand to stop her. “And let you know how your people are going to see this.”

“So you think I should let Titus live?” Lexa asks her voice tinged with shock even after everything they have been through. This conversation might be old but it never was easy. The answers were never ones that seemed clear or obvious. There was always one obvious reason as to why blood must have blood. Sometimes far more clearly than as to why it should not.

“I think…” Clarke sighs and drops her head back against the headboard. It was suddenly too heavy to hold. “I think my arm hurts,” she grumbles, feeling like a petulant teenager instead of a prisoner or a warrior or a commander. She allows her head fall to the side and thud against Lexa’s shoulder. 

Lexa chuckles, her arm giving with the weight until she manages to extract it and wrap it around Clarke who settles easily against her. It is not missed by Clarke that Lexa uses caution not to graze against the injured portion of her arm. 

“I don’t know where to go from here,” Lexa admits in a whisper. At one point things may have been easier. Traditions were followed and peace was maintained with cautious choices and even deliberation. Everything had been disrupted since the Ark had crashed to the ground. 

Clarke lets out a complaint from the back of her throat, pushing her forehead against Lexa to try and ground her back to this moment. “I don’t want to think about where we’re going anymore,” she insists. “Not unless the answer is far, far away.” 

Though Clarke cannot see her, she suspects that Lexa is smiling as her other hand reaches out to rub against Clarke’s thigh through the blankets. “That would be nice,” she muses and Clarke knows Lexa’s mind is as distant as her own at the idea. She knows that it is a shared thought to consider running away and making someday today. Their duties were unrelenting and they both had already found what they were looking for in each other. “But-“

“I know,” Clarke cuts her off because of course she knows. There was too much for them to do still. A peace to be obtained and an unrest to tamper out. Commanders don’t run away. Clarke had been forced to learn that the hard way. “Let’s not worry about any more buts or ifs or maybes tonight.” She pushes her body closer, letting Lexa’s warmth and the soft cushion of her chest and the gentle caresses of her fingers draw her in. 

Almost out of instinct she seems to pull Clarke closer, her chin nuzzling against the top of her head. “I suppose that means we don’t have much to talk about then,” she jokes. Their conversations were always laden with concern and contemplation and unsure potential. 

“Not true,” Clarke argues for the sake of arguing. Her eyes were heavy and the gentle sighs from the body next to her were comforting as were the fingers that traced and trailed and reassured. Love was a tired concept and Clarke was exhausted. “We can talk about the past…or the present.”

“But no future,” Lexa points out, her voice coated with unmasked sadness. 

Maybe it was because it was the truth that it hurt so much. It was a reality that their futures were limited to the duties they had to fulfil. There was no certainty of a future of them together. In fact, there was no certainty of any future at all, together or apart. It was the truth that Clarke often tried to hide from and one Lexa all too easily embraced. “Futures are overrated,” she says even though her mind has already painted a picture of a more and a someday and a later. A whole life that could be lived as something more than in serving their people. “Let’s stay here instead.”

“In bed?” Lexa questions and Clarke can hear the mischievous tone, an unfamiliar voice coming from the stoic commander. “Can’t say I argue with that.”

Clarke laughs and she thinks of how it is an unfamiliar sound from herself, the commander of death, as well. 

The silence envelopes them and Clarke embraces it. She holds onto the moment as it lasts, committing the steadying strength of Lexa’s arms to memory and blocking every intrusive thought of the life she would soon need to return to. There were so many problems to correct and people to fix…leaders to overthrow. As though she could do any better, be any better. After all of the lives she’s taken and the mistakes she’s made and the people she has left behind. It was a role she never wanted to walk into again.

“You don’t have to go back,” Lexa tries again, as though reading Clarke’s thoughts. Her offer before had been careful in its intentions. Now she was laying it bare once more, practically begging. Stay with me, she asks. 

“Yes, I do.” I want to, Clarke answers. She reaches out her hand, poking Lexa’s side and eliciting a slight, surprised squeak from her in response. Clarke can’t help the grin that spreads across her face, inhibitions lost to the pain in her arm and the sleepiness fogging her mind. “I hadn’t expected the great leader of 12 clans to be ticklish.”

Lexa’s answering glare is strong enough that Clarke can feel it even as her eyes slip shut once more. “Well I’m sure Wanheda is no exception either,” she replies and before Clarke knows what’s happening there are light fingers dancing over her abdomen, sending a shiver down her spine and a quivering to her muscles. She pushes Lexa’s hand away before things could progress any further. “That’s what I thought.”

“Do you think things would be different?” Clarke opens, craning her neck to look up at Lexa. She’s greeted by a gentle smile and the edges of her jaw. Reaching forward she trails a finger from Lexa’s ear and down her shoulder. “If we weren’t leaders or…on opposing sides?”

There’s a heavy silence for several moments before Lexa answers. “I think it would be far easier for none of it to matter.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke questions, eyebrows furrowing. 

“In another life where I didn’t have so many…duties, it might be easier to forget about things like war and who is on whose side. It would be easier to abandon my people if they weren’t all looking to me to lead.”

The implication is heavy. “If you weren’t the commander…you would abandon your people for me?”

Her answering smile is sad and she tilts her chin up, blocking her face from Clarke’s view. “I wish I could abandon them now,” she whispers before looking back down at Clarke. “But that is selfish and childish and…just because I don’t want to lead doesn’t mean I don’t need to.”

Of course that was true. Clarke was tired of the truth.

She pushes herself up with her good arm, leaning over Lexa so she can see the slow stretch of a smile take over her face as Clarke leans forward, her lips pressing just barely against Lexa’s before Lexa leans up and deepens the contact between them. One of her hands wraps around Clarke’s good arm and the other grips the back of her neck. She surrenders herself to the kiss and Clarke tries not to think about what it means that the commander of 12 clans so easily gives herself to one who commands nothing but death. 

“I’m scared to let you go,” Lexa admits in a whisper against Clarke’s lips. Her voice trembles and her hands tighten their grip as she releases the words. When her eyes open Clarke sees nothing but sadness and worry as she blinks Clarke into focus, breathing in a stuttering gasp. 

“I’ll come back,” Clarke promises even though she has no right to. There were no promises down here on the ground, no guarantees. She knew this as well as Lexa did. “And I’m not going anywhere yet.” She reminds her with another kiss and then a nuzzle of her forehead against her neck as she lies back against her. The pain was bothersome but decidedly worth it. “I thought we agreed not to talk about the future.”

“Easier said than done,” Lexa answers back but her voice sounds tired and her arm falls heavily around Clarke. “We should make the most of now then I suppose,” she sighs as she trails bare fingers along Clarke’s back beneath her shirt.

Clarke makes a sound of agreement in the back of her throat. The world around her was fading with ever second that passed. The only thing she remained fully aware of was Lexa’s warm body half beneath her own. “How d’you suppose we do that?” she asks, fighting back a yawn. If she had more energy and less pain it could be a playful question. She might raise an eyebrow and reach her hand beneath the sheets suggestively and get Lexa to smile that brilliant, all-consuming smile one more time. But it was late and she was tired and all she has the energy for right now is a nudge of her chin and pressing her lips to whatever piece of bare skin she can find.

“I love you,” Lexa says the words not in a rush or with any suggestion of nerves or great declaration. It is a statement that she means wholeheartedly and she uses this truth to take advantage of the time they had together. “Just remember that, Clarke.”

Now is not the time to say the words back. Not when her mind was foggy and her heart racing and reality so uncertain. Instead she lets her lips pepper kisses along Lexa’s collarbone and she forces her muscles to relax as she shows her love in the only ways she knows how to anymore. She falls asleep held in love, and she doesn’t fight it off. Not even when the nightmares come.


End file.
